


Kiss and Control

by murderousfiligree



Series: Drowning Lessons [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Bondage, Choking, Consensual Non-Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Minor Character Death, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Resistance Play, but maybe...in addition to trying to kill each other..., fuckbuddies who are trying 2 kill each other 2 husbands, hisoillu, now get ready for:, some traumatized assassins?? use bdsm??? to cope????, stay tuned, they also...love each other??, who are also lowkey still trying to kill each other, youve heard of friends 2 lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderousfiligree/pseuds/murderousfiligree
Summary: Hisoka grinned against his ear. “You really are desperate, huh? Eldest of the Zoldyck children, deadly assassin, professional hunter—reduced to this. Covered in come, all but begging me to fuck you. You’re a mess.” Illumi’s breath was quickening. He was going to come again.It was then that Hisoka said something he would immediately regret:“What would your mother think if she saw you like this?”
Relationships: Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck
Series: Drowning Lessons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866727
Comments: 95
Kudos: 1018
Collections: HxH





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the election arc, but before the beginning of the succession contest arc. **TW: In this fic, Hisoka and Illumi engage in various kinds of BDSM, including consensual nonconsent/resistance play. Although this fic only depicts mutually consensual acts, if you find noncon or dubcon triggering, I recommend you avoid it just in case. There is also discussion of suicide.**
> 
> Another note on Illumi’s powers, for the pedantic: We really haven’t seen him fight much on screen, and given what I’ve seen of other manipulators in combat, I decided to make him somewhat telekinetic. When thrown by hand, his pins are aimed more precisely and with more force, so he prefers this method; but it seemed silly to me that simply binding his hands would render him powerless. So for the purposes of this fic, he can control the pins with his mind alone, just not quite as well as he would with the use of his hands.

Something was coming. 

Though he’d been asleep moments ago, Hisoka Morow was already standing at the foot of the bed, yellow eyes fixed on the door to his suite. In the sparse light of the gibbous moon, he could still make out the lions carved into the heavy oak, snarling perpetually at one another. He could also make out his own reflection in the golden doorknob, though it was distorted and small. 

There was no time to get dressed. The sinister presence had roused him the second it arrived at his floor, and would take perhaps ten seconds to reach the end of the hall. It was a deliciously strong aura, and though it was familiar, he couldn’t immediately place it. Such a murderous intent directed at him—and it was, undoubtedly, directed at him—made it difficult to think. He felt electric. Giddy. Aroused. 

Precisely six seconds later, the door shuddered as if beneath a tremendous weight. 

The magician licked his lips. He could feel the plush carpet between his toes; he could feel the gentle draft of air conditioning on his back; he could feel the mounting pressure which was splitting the door in two, dividing the warring lions in an eruption of splinters. 

A long, purple-clad leg passed through the hole where the door had been, followed by a figure he recognized instantly.

Illumi Zoldyck was a terrifying sight. The long black hair caught in the froth of his _Ren_ formed a perverse halo, obscuring his face save for a single furious eye. Four needles gleamed in each fist, with many more pins embedded in the velvet lapels of his jacket. 

“Ah, Illu. I see you’ve finally accepted my invitation.” Heedless of his own nudity, Hisoka made a wide, welcoming gesture with both arms. “What’s mine is yours. Though I wish you’d called. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have—” 

Evidently uninterested in hypotheticals, Illumi dispatched two pins from his left hand. Hisoka dropped to the floor. One passed above his head, sinking into the footboard with a _thwip_. The next, aimed at his heart, only managed to graze his shoulder. It was a peculiar sensation, but not particularly painful; deep penetration was needed for Illumi’s ability to do any real damage.

Hisoka rolled sideways, snatching the deck of cards on the nightstand with a strand of _Bungee Gum_. “Not in the mood to talk?” 

Another pin whizzed past his ear.

“Fine by me.” 

Leaping to his feet, Hisoka tossed a single card at his would-be killer’s throat. Illumi ducked. He threw four more as Illumi slipped to the right; three missed, but the ace of hearts embedded itself in the man’s upper thigh.

 _He’s keeping his distance,_ Hisoka mused. _Don’t want me close, do you, Illu?_

Illumi’s fingers were preternaturally quick, but Hisoka’s senses were just as keen. Two pins missed his temple by millimeters, shattering a vase on the dresser behind him. He replied with six cards in rapid succession. Only one made contact, slicing the sleeve of Illumi’s white shirt. 

The pair stood on opposite sides of the room—Hisoka in front of the glass window, Illumi a few paces from the washroom door. A king four-poster bed, adorned with a lush red canopy, served as a veil between them. Through the waves of gossamer fabric, Hisoka watched Illumi’s tongue dart out to lick the head of a pin. 

His cock twitched at the sight.

“I’ve missed you,” said Hisoka, voice low and beguiling. “Did you come here to kill me, baby?”

Illumi maintained his silence, but Hisoka thought he saw a change in his aura. The turbulence in the air seemed to slow, if only a little. 

“Don’t you want me to touch you?” 

At a distance, they were near equally matched. Illumi was the superior manipulator, however; the assassin’s pins were deadlier than his cards. Should the fight continue at this distance, he knew Illumi would gain the upper hand. 

_Then I suppose it can’t be helped._

Hisoka lunged forward. By the time his foot touched the bed, the air was full of needles. Pulling his forearms apart, he summoned a sheet of _Bungee Gum_ to shield his face and upper body. Five pins bounced back to their owner, dull end first. Three missed outright, hitting the window behind him with a _crack_. Only one found its mark, burying itself in the meat of his calf; the limb slackened, now a useless weight from the knee down. 

In a half-second, Hisoka emerged from the canopy. In a full second, he touched down with his good leg, snagged Illumi’s wrist, and twisted the arm behind his back. 

“Why don’t you admit it?” He slammed Illumi into the wall with enough force to shake the room. “You want this.”

One painting—a grassy landscape with several cards stuck in the canvas—clattered to the floor. Groaning obscenely, Hisoka pressed his cock against Illumi’s ass. 

“Stop,” Illumi hissed.

 _That’s not the magic word, and you know it, Illu._ “Answer my question.” 

“Which one?”

Hisoka hummed thoughtfully. “Well, first things first. Did you come here to kill me?” 

“No.” 

“Mmm.” Hisoka rolled his hips. He could feel the heat of Illumi’s body through the silk fabric; it took incredible restraint not to tear it aside and fuck him there. “So I take it you’re here to burn off some steam?” 

Illumi didn’t reply, but the shudder that passed through him was answer enough. Hisoka slipped his free hand around front to seize Illumi’s other wrist. 

“I’m happy to oblige.” Binding the wrists together with _Bungee Gum_ , he grabbed Illumi’s shoulders and flipped him around. With both arms pinned behind him and an obvious tent in his pants, the assassin looked delectably indignant. 

Hisoka plucked the ace of hearts from the wounded thigh and held it against Illumi’s throat. “Ready to give up yet?” 

“Defeating you does not require the use of my arms,” Illumi replied. Hisoka became suddenly aware of a pair of needles at his temples. “Unbind me.” 

Hisoka laughed. “Clever, Illu. I wonder—which of us is faster? Can you pierce my skull before I cut your throat?” 

“Unbind me,” he said again.  
  
“I have a better idea. How about you remove your pin from my leg and I fuck you until you beg me to come?”

“I do not beg.” 

“Ahh. Then I suppose last time you were just crying ‘please’ to be polite?” 

Hisoka felt the pins advance slightly, piercing skin. Blood trickled down his temples. “Do you honestly think you can win this?” He pushed the card into Illumi’s throat, drawing blood in turn. “I thought you were smarter than that.” 

Illumi’s eye twitched. 

“Besides,” said Hisoka, “you’ve got me all riled up. Even if you manage to kill me, I’ll come all over that nice outfit of yours.” He glanced at the rip in the sleeve. “Though I suppose it’s already ruined.” 

Illumi wrinkled his nose in apparent disgust. 

“Don’t be coy.” He pressed his palm against Illumi’s erection, feeling the dampness of the fabric there. “You’ll soil these without my help, if you don’t take them o—”

Before he could finish, Illumi’s foot connected with his jaw. 

Hisoka stumbled backwards through the canopy, tripping over his dead leg. The assassin was on top of him before he hit the mattress, one knee in his stomach, the opposite knee against his throat. 

“Perhaps my earlier answer was misleading.” Illumi leaned forward so their faces were nearly touching. “Though it is not my objective, I will kill you if you displease me.” 

“Oh, Illu,” he moaned, sliding his hand across Illumi’s calf. “I’ll die soon enough if I don’t fuck you.”

“Shut up.” Illumi pushed his knee into Hisoka’s throat. “Unbind me.” 

Taking the ankle in his other hand, Hisoka pulled the limb even closer. “Harder,” he wheezed, lidded eyes rolling wildly. “I’m going to come.” 

Illumi jerked back, arms still pinioned, aura flaring with rage. 

“Just kidding.” Hisoka sat upright at the edge of the bed, bringing their faces close again. “Though you should really pay less attention to my words and more attention to my hands, baby.” 

Illumi looked down sharply, eyes alight with _Gyo_. A strand of _Bungee Gum_ connected his right ankle to Hisoka’s index finger. 

“How about we tie you up a little more thoroughly then, hm?” 

Illumi’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you da—”  
  
The strand contracted from a length of several feet to that of inches. Hisoka flicked his wrist such that the half-airborne Illumi would land, facedown, in the center of the bed; he leaned sideways as the pale form sailed past him, sending ripples through the canopy. 

As soon as the assassin’s chest touched the mattress Hisoka was on him, binding the leg thigh-to-calf with the quick precision of an expert rigger. 

Illumi kicked wildly with his only free limb, but the magician dodged the blows with ease.

“How cute.” He grabbed the left leg, tying it as he had the right. “You don’t know when to give up, do you?” 

“Unbind me,” said Illumi. 

“Or what?” Completing the tie, Hisoka pulled at the purple fabric of his pants. “You’ll kill me?” 

“Yes.” 

The pins, which he’d almost forgotten about, sank into his temples again. He could feel the sinister buzz of Illumi’s _Nen_ vibrating against his skull.

“I don’t think you will,” said Hisoka, savoring the sound of popping seams. He smiled. “No underwear, Illu?” 

“I _will_ kill you.” 

“I’m willing to take that risk.” 

“You’re insane.”

“Mmm.” Hisoka traced Illumi’s asshole with his index finger, deeply regretting his pointed manicure. “Maybe so. But you haven’t killed me yet, have you?” 

Illumi grew silent again. Though his face was mostly hidden beneath black hair, Hisoka could see his reddened left ear. 

“Oh, Illu, you’re blushing! Are you embarrassed I caught you this easily?” Tugging each severed pant leg down to the first band of _Bungee Gum_ , Hisoka licked his lips. Illumi’s ass was pale, smooth, and exquisitely round. “Or are you embarrassed this is turning you on?” 

Illumi pressed his face into the mattress, hair falling over the exposed ear. Hisoka took this as a gesture of surrender. 

“I asked you a question.” Relishing the sensation, he grabbed a fistful of that thick, silky hair and twisted Illumi around to face him. “Aren’t you going to answer me?” 

Illumi’s whole body was taut, straining uselessly against his bonds; though the _Bungee Gum_ was not unyielding (it has the properties of both rubber and gum, after all) it was not yielding enough to permit escape. 

“I am not embarrassed.”  
  
“Oh. But it _is_ turning you on?” 

The corners of his mouth twitched—the Illumi equivalent of a scowl. 

“If you won’t answer me,” he continued, “I’ll just find out for myself.” 

Grasping one of his bound thighs, Hisoka flipped Illumi onto his back.

Though still clothed (save for his groin), the assassin looked terribly exposed; for the first time that night, his face was unobscured by hair or shadow. The cracks in his ubiquitous mask of indifference were beginning to show. 

He was reminded of the first time he saw Illumi like this: bound and helpless, rage flaring behind black eyes. That had been after a long fight, and an even longer period of negotiation (in which Hisoka had painstakingly explained that choosing “stop” as their safeword was missing the point). This was the first time they’d clashed without preamble, and the rage in Illumi’s eyes was genuine. There was a certain rawness about him now, an almost feral quality that made Hisoka’s cock ache. 

“Aw, Illu,” he purred. “Were you really expecting to come out on top?” 

“Yes." The fire in his eyes belied the flatness of his tone. “The probability of my success was eighty-six percent.” 

“Mmm. That high?” Hisoka pressed his thumb against the head of Illumi’s erection. “And what would you have done if you’d won, hmm? Poked me full of holes? Fucked my ass? Left me aching and hard and _unsatisfied_?” 

“Something like that.” 

“How cruel, Illu.” He moved his palm against the shaft, squeezing gently. “ _I_ always let _you_ come.” 

“That is your choice.” 

Hisoka grinned. “So it is. I would like you to fuck me sometime. But right now,” he produced the bloody ace of hearts, “I want you to take your pin out of my leg. In fact, I want you to send all of your pins somewhere they won’t bother us.” 

Illumi looked away. 

“I mean _now_ , baby.” Hisoka pressed the card against his throat. “I also need you to finger yourself for me. I’d do it myself but, ah…” He brandished his claws. “I don’t think you’d like that very much.” 

After a long moment, the pins at Hisoka’s temples fell away. The one in his calf popped out next, restoring sensation to his lower leg with a painful jolt. Even the few remaining pins in the vest were banished to the edge of the room, discarded for the night.

Still averting his eyes, Illumi slipped a finger inside himself. 

“What a good boy!” Hisoka crooned. 

He let the card drop to Illumi’s collarbone, slicing the shirt open as he dragged it from neck to navel. Like his ass, Illumi’s chest was pale and hairless; both magician and assassin had rigorous grooming routines, spurred by a mutual preference for androgyny. The former regretted that Illumi’s legs (which were so long and smooth and appetizing) could not be stretched apart, but the bed frame was insufficient to hold him. Only the dungeons at the Zoldyck mansion had fixtures capable of bearing Illumi’s strength, and Hisoka had only dared to enter there once. They’d fucked for a full day that time, right under the nose of the Zoldyck patriarchs: Illumi hanging from the ceiling by his hair, hands bound behind his back in an elaborate prayer tie, those legs pulled open in a perfect split (he was _oh so_ flexible…). 

“Are you going to get lubricant?” asked Illumi, breaking his reverie. 

“Impatient, are we?” 

“Yes.” 

Hisoka chuckled, rising to his feet. “I was just recalling the time I fucked you in your family’s house.” 

“Oh.” Illumi blinked. “I should never have let you.” 

“But you did. And you loved it.” He palmed a (rather large) bottle of lube from the top drawer of his nightstand. “By the way. If you were so confident you’d win, why’d you bleach your asshole?” 

Illumi’s mouth twitched; that almost-scowl again. “Perhaps I didn’t do it for you.” 

“Oh, you most definitely did.” 

There was a beat of silence.  
  
“Well?” said Hisoka, grinning like a cat.

“A good assassin is prepared for every unfavorable turn of events.” 

The magician laughed, squeezing a generous amount of lube into his hand. “Of course. And you are the best, dear Illu.” 

“I know.” 

Tossing the bottle aside, Hisoka began applying the lube to himself with slow, sensual strokes. Only a week had passed since his last sexual encounter—he had a healthy libido, and there was no dearth of attractive men at Heavens Arena—but it had been months since he’d slept with someone of Illumi’s caliber. 

He intended to savor the experience. 

Watching this display, Illumi removed the fingers from his ass in quiet compliance. 

_You won’t be quiet for long,_ thought Hisoka, pressing the head of his cock against Illumi’s hole. _I’ll make sure everyone in this tower hears you moan._

“Now then,” he began. “What’s it going to be tonight? Are you going to beg me to fuck you?” He placed his thumb and forefinger on Illumi’s throat. “Or are you going to beg me to stop?” 

Illumi swallowed hard, as if testing the strength of the grip on his larynx. “I haven’t decided.” 

“Mmm.” Hisoka began easing himself in, achingly slow. “I _love_ surprises.” 

It was subtle at first: the upward tilt of the hips when he first slid inside, the slight parting of the mouth when he sheathed himself, and the delicious little gasp when he began to move. There was nothing in the world more satisfying than watching a man as unflappable as Illumi come unraveled, thread by thread. 

“How does it feel?” 

Illumi closed his eyes. “Big,” he said. 

“Too big?” 

“Almost.” 

Hisoka leaned in, planting one hand beside Illumi’s shoulder, keeping the other on his throat. He continued to thrust, deep and slow. 

“Does it hurt?” 

The moon had vanished behind the city skyline. In the low light, he could feel the heat from Illumi’s face more easily than he could see him blushing. 

“A little,” he said, voice quavering. 

“Oh?” Hisoka upped the tempo, face still level with Illumi’s. “How about now?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” He tightened his grip on Illumi’s throat. “I like it when you hurt.” 

Illumi let out a low, pitiful moan. 

“Oh, yes,” groaned Hisoka. “I missed that sound. I can’t _wait_ to come inside you, baby.” 

Illumi closed his legs and twisted his lower body sidewise. “No,” he rasped. “Don’t.” 

The change in position made Hisoka slip out, but ultimately did nothing to deny him access. 

“You don’t want me to come inside you?” Using one of Illumi’s legs as leverage, he forced himself back in. “Would you prefer I come all over you?” 

Illumi made a sound dangerously close to a whine. 

“Use your words, baby.” 

“I would prefer—” He wrenched away again, leaning into the bed’s plentiful pile of pillows. “—that you don’t come at all.” 

“Aww. Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” Hisoka shifted forward, bracing one arm against the headboard. He lowered himself, lips brushing Illumi’s cheekbone. “Listen close,” he whispered. “There’s nowhere for you to go. Even if you scream for help, no one in this tower is strong enough to stop me. All you’ll do is attract an audience.” His tongue traced the shell of Illumi’s ear. “Of course, I love an audience almost as much as I love hearing you moan. So it’s really up to you, baby.” 

Tilting away from the touch, Illumi tried to turn onto his stomach; Hisoka shoved a knee between his legs, pinning one thigh to the bed and forcing him onto his back. 

“Ah-ah,” he chided. “I want to see that beautiful face.”

Illumi opened his mouth to reply when Hisoka began to fuck him.

Athletic as he was, the magician was capable of a truly breakneck pace—Illumi gasped, mouth agape, black eyes wide and watering. Very little remained of the stoic assassin that had kicked down the door less than a half hour ago. This Illumi was another person entirely, a person only Hisoka had the privilege to see. 

“Stop,” he moaned, twisting away to no avail. “Please, Hisoka!” 

Hisoka did not slow, but he released his hold on Illumi’s throat. “Say it again. Louder this time.” 

“Please!” 

“My name too, baby.”

“Please.” Illumi took a deep, tremulous breath. His eyes, half lidded, seemed to roll further back into his head with each thrust. “ _Hisoka!_ ” 

The sound of his own name echoing in that capacious room was a sound of which he would never tire. Though he had the entire floor to himself, he’d heard enough noise from the subjacent room to know its occupants could hear Illumi’s cry. They were certainly awake, thanks to the commotion of the fight; no doubt there were many fighters in the lower floors sitting up in their beds, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trembling at the thought of Heavens Arena’s most deadly floor master ravishing some unlucky intruder. The thought alone sent a jolt of pleasure to his groin. 

“Stop,” Illumi said weakly. “It’s too much.” 

Dropping his hands to the bound thighs, Hisoka lifted Illumi’s ass off the bed and resumed his assault at the improved angle. 

“Is that better, baby?” 

Illumi writhed like a man possessed. A blue vein pulsed in the white flesh of his hip. Only thin white slivers remained of his eyes, like crescent moons beneath the black lashes.

“Look at you,” he cooed. A drop of blood ran down Illumi’s thighs and onto the damask comforter, a casualty of Hisoka’s sharp nails. “Dirty slut.” 

As if to confirm the epithet, Illumi shuddered, then grew stiff; he came with a smothered whimper, biting his lip hard enough to turn it white. Hisoka nearly joined him—Illumi’s asshole grew unbearably tight with the orgasm—but held himself back through sheer force of will. He wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. 

Illumi opened his eyes. A thick line of fluid ran from his navel to his collarbone, sliding north due to his elevated hips. He followed it with downcast eyes, as if trying to deduce its origin, to blame its sudden appearance on something other than himself.

“Oh, Illu.” Hisoka’s eyes were bright with glee. “I didn’t even _touch_ you.” 

Despite the semidarkness, Illumi’s skin seemed to glow with shame. Hisoka released his grip on the thighs and slipped out of Illumi’s ass, shifting down so their faces were level. 

“Look at me.” He placed a pointed finger beneath Illumi’s chin. “Tell me what you did wrong.” 

Illumi’s thin eyebrows furrowed, a crease forming between them. His eyes, though still deep black in color, had grown wet and round and strange. That such eyes could be capable of the cold, penetrating stare that had pierced countless victims as surely as needles had pierced their skulls was unfathomable. 

“I didn’t ask permission,” he said softly. 

Hisoka hummed, pressing his still-throbbing cock against Illumi’s abdomen. “And why didn’t you ask permission, baby? Did you forget?” 

Illumi looked away, but Hisoka grabbed his chin and forced it straight. “Look at me when you’re talking to me.” 

Illumi let out a groan. As soon as their eyes met, his body began to tremble. “I did not forget. It happened too fast,” he said. “I couldn’t help it.” 

“Aw, you couldn’t help it?” said Hisoka, voice dripping with faux contempt. “Shove a thick cock in your ass and you just come all over yourself, huh?”

Illumi squirmed but did not look away. Hisoka could feel the assassin’s erection stirring to life again, twitching against his own. “How embarrassing, Illu.” 

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed, but no sound came out. 

“What was that, baby?” 

“I’m sorry." 

“No, you aren’t.” Hisoka’s fingers sank into his scalp. “Not yet.” 

Before he could reply, Hisoka was dragging him off the bed by his hair. With no limbs to slow his fall, his left hip hit the ground hard enough to bruise. He did not cry out; Hisoka had already tried and failed to turn him into a masochist. To a Zoldyck, pain was far too banal to be exciting. 

“Sit up straight.” 

Illumi obeyed. 

“Good boy.” Hisoka relaxed his grip but did not remove his hand. “Do you want to come twice tonight?” 

“Yes,” said Illumi. He was already half hard again. “Please.” 

“Mmm. You’ve been bad. You’ll have to earn it.” Hisoka pressed his cock against Illumi’s lips. “Why don’t you start by opening that pretty little mouth for me?” 

His mouth was, in fact, quite small; he had to open it all the way to accommodate Hisoka’s girth. Knowing this, the magician favored facefucking as a punishment: Illumi derived no physical pleasure from it, and it had the added bonus of making his eyes water. There were few things that made Hisoka harder than the sight of tears in Illumi Zoldyck’s eyes. 

“That’s it.” Hand firm on the back of his head, Hisoka buried himself in Illumi’s throat. “Don’t gag and I might let you come again.” 

Illumi made a miserable sound, halfway between a groan and a gurgle, but he did not gag. 

“Good boy.” Hisoka started moving, slowly at first. He was close; any faster and he’d come then and there. “Keep looking at me.”  
  
The first time he’d punished Illumi like this, his expression had been wrought with indignation. As the minutes crawled by, however, anger had given way to something else; there was humiliation, fear, arousal—the whole spectrum of human emotion contained in that tangle of a look—and then there was acceptance, though acceptance was perhaps too mild a word. It was more like utter, mindless submission, Illumi’s desires subsumed by his own. When he’d finished, Illumi had buried his face in Hisoka’s groin and begged him to do it again. 

There was nothing quite like that first time watching him break—molding a powerful, control-obsessed manipulator into an obedient submissive had been an immense pleasure—but dominating Illumi remained an exhilarating experience every time. 

“Fuck,” rasped Hisoka. “That look, Illu!”  
  
A tear was leaking from Illumi’s left eye. His jaw was open so wide Hisoka could almost feel the ache. 

“Does this make you hard? Being my fucktoy?” 

Though the question had been rhetorical, Illumi inclined his head. The tear slipped down to his jaw and lingered there. 

That was enough to push Hisoka over the edge. A few rapid thrusts and he was coming—first in the mouth, then all over Illumi’s face, moaning loud enough to wake the residents of the ground floor. 

He was still riding out the orgasm when Illumi squeezed his eyes shut and coughed. Semen dripped down the side of his nose, past his chin, onto the carpet. He swallowed thickly. 

“You did so good,” said Hisoka, dropping to his knees. He was still taller than Illumi, but not by much. “Did you like that, baby?” 

Illumi nodded, leaning into the magician’s chest. His cheek was wet and sticky, but Hisoka didn’t mind.

“Mmm. I can tell.” Hisoka’s hand found Illumi’s erection. “Tell me you missed my cock.” 

“I missed your cock,” Illumi mumbled against his throat. 

“Louder.” 

“I missed your cock." 

“Of course you did, baby.” He teased Illumi with short, fast strokes. “I can’t believe you’re this hard from me fucking your face.”

Illumi rocked his hips, keeping pace. His breaths were hot and fast against the side of Hisoka’s neck. 

“You’re such a slut. I bet you want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” Hisoka peered over Illumi’s shoulder and saw, true to form, that the assassin already had three fingers inside himself. “Have you really been fingering your ass this entire time?” 

“No,” said Illumi. “Not the entire time.” 

“Don’t be smart with me.” Hisoka grinned against his ear. “You really are desperate, huh? Eldest of the Zoldyck children, deadly assassin, professional hunter—reduced to this. Covered in come, all but begging me to fuck you. You’re a mess.” Illumi’s breath was quickening. He was going to come again. 

It was then that Hisoka said something he would immediately regret:  
  
“What would your mother think if she saw you like this?” 

The effect of this statement was instantaneous. Illumi stiffened. His aura (which had relaxed to a simmer) flared to life, its force nauseatingly potent. All the walls which had toppled over the course of the hour rose again; leaning back, Hisoka saw Illumi’s mask of impassivity had returned.

“Red,” said Illumi. Admittedly not the most inventive safeword, but Illumi wasn’t exactly the creative type. “Stop touching me and untie me.” 

Hisoka withdrew his hand. The _Bungee Gum_ restraints vanished. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes.” Illumi stood, knees cracking as he straightened them. The shredded remnants of his clothes slumped to the ground, revealing red ligature marks where the restraints had been. “I would prefer if you did not mention my family during intercourse.” 

“I gathered that.” Hisoka considered him for a beat: the arms were folded tightly over the chest, and the erection was all but gone. He cheerlessly concluded that there was no hope of coaxing him into another round. “I don’t suppose you came here just to see me?” 

“Of course not. I came here for a job.” 

“Anyone I know?” 

“No.” 

“I know the people in this arena,” he pressed. “The interesting people, at least. Maybe I could—” 

“I do not require your assistance.” 

Hisoka shrugged. “Fine, fine. It would just give me something to do. No one worth fighting now, is all.” 

“Your boredom is not my concern.” Illumi started toward the washroom, kicking a piece of drywall in his path. 

“You don’t have to be an ass. If I’d known it was going to upset you, I wouldn’t have—” 

The washroom door slammed shut. 

Hisoka rolled his eyes. _Typical._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos on the first chapter!

Three sharp knocks roused Hisoka from his sleep. 

The first thing he saw was sunlight seeping through the cracked glass window, flooding the wreck of a room. More than half of his favorite deck of cards was embedded in the walls, from which nearly all the room’s paintings had fallen; the floor was littered with these paintings, chunks of drywall, and glass from the shattered vase. By the washroom, there was an Illumi-shaped hole where he’d slammed him against the wall. Illumi’s pins were conspicuously absent.

His eye fell on the bottle of lube, still on the (evidently unslept in) opposite side of the bed. The words “silky smooth” and “long lasting” adorned the bottle in pink letters. It was a pity their liaison had been so short. If he hadn’t run his mouth, they would have certainly fucked till sunrise. Hell, they’d probably still be fucking. 

Hisoka sighed. _Oh well._

The knocking came again, drawing his attention to the door. Or rather, what was left of the door. A middle-aged woman peered through the jagged hole in its center, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Mister Morow?” 

Hisoka yawned, shifting in the silk sheets. He hadn’t seen Illumi leave the washroom last night; the assassin must have camped out there until he’d fallen asleep, then left sometime early in the morning. 

“Yes, Sato?”

The woman pushed the door open but did not enter. “We’ve prepared another room for you while the suite is being repaired.” 

“The same one as last time?” 

“Yes.” She flashed him a pleasant smile, but there was no light in her eyes. He found this typical of service workers. “We will begin repairs as soon as you leave for the day, if that suits you, Mister Morow.” 

“Yes, that’s fine.” 

“Shall I bring your breakfast here?” 

“No.” He plucked a long black hair from his pillow. “I’ll get it.” 

Sato bowed and closed the door as best she could. Her footfalls were soft on the hall carpet.   
  


* * *

  
After he showered and dressed, Hisoka called Chrollo for the second time that week. He waited as the phone rang, tapping the heel of his boot against the lobby’s red linoleum floor. It trilled once, twice, three times—then there was a click, followed by a low whine, like air rushing through bellows.  
  
“Hisoka.” The voice was difficult to hear over the turbulence. “I told you not to call me again.” 

“Did you? _So_ sorry. It must have slipped my mind.” Hisoka relaxed against the wall. “It sounds windy where you are, Leader.”

“I was never your leader, and my whereabouts aren’t your concern. Did you have a reason for calling?” 

“Just checking on your progress. We still have a deal, don’t we, _Chrollo?_ ”

“Yes. As I recall, the deal did not involve your making incessant calls.” An unfamiliar voice mumbled something in the background. Hisoka strained to hear it, but it was impossible to make out the words. “When I’m ready, I’ll come to the arena.” 

“I’ll be here.” The lobby was getting crowded. A pair of young fighters passed him by, openly gawking. He was something of a minor celebrity. “Won’t you hurry for me?” 

“No. And if you call again, I’ll block this number.”  
  
The line went dead. Hisoka shoved the phone in his pocket with a petulant sigh.   
  


* * *

  
He didn’t have any fights scheduled that day. The last time he’d fought had been two weeks prior; the third in a string of dull, one-sided matches. His opponent had been an older woman, a conjurer with serrated _Nen_ knives. Good enough for the 200th floor, perhaps, but not good enough for him. Her aura had been weak, her technique bordering on sloppy. Though she had ample opportunity, she never once came close to scratching him. 

At least she had died screaming. He always liked it when they screamed. 

“Excuse me?” Hisoka tapped on the plastic divisor separating the scheduling office from the hallway. “I’d like a match, please.” 

“Of course!” The clerk, a woman with purple hair and tired eyes, flashed an automatic smile. “When would you like to fight?” 

“Today, if there’s room.”

There was a familiar clacking of fingers on the keyboard, followed by the sound of shuffling paper. “How does 3 o’clock this afternoon suit you, Mister Morow?” 

“It suits me fine.” Killing second-rate fighters was rapidly losing its thrill, but it was better than sitting in the temporary suite, willing a worthy opponent to appear in his bed. He started down the hallway, examining his manicure. 

“Wait!” called the clerk. “Don’t you want to know your opponent’s name?” 

He made a dismissive gesture over his shoulder. Whoever it was, he would kill them. Then maybe he’d pick up a pretty young man and spend the night thinking about something besides fighting Chrollo or fucking Illumi (or vice versa). 

Hisoka was a man of near infinite patience, but he hated sitting still.   
  


* * *

  
There was an ear-splitting roar as he stepped into the ring.

Though he’d only been a floor master for a couple of months, he’d been a crowd favorite for far longer; even with only a couple hours’ notice, the stands were full of fans and admirers. He wondered if Illumi was among the spectators, stalking his prey with that pantherlike grace, or if he’d already killed his target. It made no difference, he supposed. The assassin would be gone soon either way.  
  
According to the announcer, he was up against an emitter named Valwin. Hisoka had seen him fight once before—a pompous opera singer who used sound as a weapon. Not a particularly interesting opponent, but he hadn’t been expecting one. He’d start off by cutting the man’s vocal chords. Then he could toy with him for as long as he liked before the inevitable kill.

Assuming he showed up. The man was nine minutes late; another minute and he’d forfeit the match. Hisoka put his hands on his hips and leaned back, squinting into the overhead lights. He knew Illumi’s aura well, but there were too many _Nen_ users in the arena for him to sense it, much less isolate it. 

“Well folks,” the announcer drawled, “it looks like our challenger isn’t going to show.” 

There was a chorus of boos from the crowd. 

Thirty seconds remained. Hisoka’s eyes flitted between the clock and the empty doorway. He’d never been stood up for a match before, though he’d done it to others on more than one occasion. If he’d believed in karmic justice, he might have expected this. 

“Can’t say I blame him, folks,” the announcer continued. “He didn’t know he’d be up against Hisoka until an hour ago.” 

Ten seconds. His fingers twitched. He tasted copper, faint and sweet, on the back of his tongue. 

“Three...two...one. Hisoka wins by default!” 

The magician let out an audible groan. He was going to die of boredom.   
  


* * *

  
His revised plan for the evening was as follows: 

  1. Locate the opera singer. 
  2. Retrieve his favorite deck of cards from the master suite.
  3. Kill the opera singer.
  4. Pick up a man at the bar two blocks from the arena. 
  5. Rail aforementioned man until the early hours of the morning. 



The first task was easily accomplished; a small taste of his _Ren_ had the terrified receptionist scribbling down the room number, hand shaking, not meeting his eyes. 

As he approached his own suite, it occurred to him that there were no construction sounds. In fact, there was no noise at all, save for a faint scraping, like metal sliding against ceramic. The door, newly repaired, was ajar.

Hisoka’s eyes narrowed. Reaching out with his _En_ , it immediately touched a familiar aura. 

_Illumi?_

Pushing the door the rest of the way open, he saw the assassin sitting, cross-legged, in the center of the bed. He wore white pants beneath a blue silk garment that was almost certainly intended for women; the fit was too tight across the shoulders, too loose about the hips. In the folds of the blouse sat a red bowl, half-full of what appeared to be vanilla ice cream. 

“You’re still here,” said Hisoka. 

Illumi dipped a silver spoon into the bowl, retrieving a small portion of ice cream. “Correct.”

“New clothes?” 

“Yes.” He swallowed the mouthful and dipped the spoon in again. “You destroyed the ones I was wearing.” 

“Right. Sorry about that.” 

“Nevermind. I should have brought a spare. I left two more outfits with a tailor, to be picked up tomorrow.” 

“Oh?” Hisoka approached the edge of the bed. “You’re staying another night?” 

“Yes. My target is still alive.” Though his expression was blank, Illumi’s voice possessed an odd, almost harsh quality; if he didn’t know better, Hisoka would have thought he sounded strained. “This is a...difficult operation. It may take several days.” 

“Mmm.” Parting the canopy with one hand, Hisoka lowered himself onto the mattress. His motions were slow and deliberate, as if Illumi were a wild animal he might spook with a wrong move. “Sure you don’t want my help?” 

“Yes. I have a plan, and I am more than capable of executing it.” 

“Ah.” Hisoka glanced down at the bowl. “Is eating ice cream a part of your plan?” 

Illumi’s mouth twitched. It took an enormous amount of willpower not to lean down and kiss the vanilla from his lips. 

“Can I not indulge in occasional pleasures?” 

“On the contrary.” Illumi’s hair had a bluish sheen in the afternoon sun. He tucked a stray lock behind the ear, unveiling that smooth white column of a neck. “I wish you would indulge more.” 

There was a moment when he thought it would happen again; Illumi’s pulse would race beneath his fingertips, heavy breaths would dissolve into soft moans, and they would melt together—but when his hand slipped to the inside of Illumi’s thigh, he was unceremoniously shoved off the bed. 

“We are not having intercourse tonight,” said Illumi. 

Hisoka sighed. At least the floor had been cleared of rubble; landing might have bruised more than his ego, otherwise.  
  
“Very well.” Rising to his feet, he approached the wall in which several of his cards were still embedded. He began plucking them out, one by one, as he spoke. “I have errands to run. My spare key is in the top drawer of the nightstand. It works for all the doors on this floor. You should sleep in the bedroom two doors down from this one, so the staff can finish repairs.” He failed to mention that there were other bedrooms in which Illumi could sleep, but the assassin was smart enough to figure that one out, if he wanted to.

Hisoka turned around, shoving the complete deck of cards into his waistband. “I’m capable of sleeping next to someone without sodomizing them, you know.” 

“Really? I wasn’t aware.” 

“Very funny.” Hisoka checked his reflection in the cracked (but miraculously still hanging) mirror. “I’ll be back later tonight.” 

It was thus that the fate of one Valwin, fighter and opera singer, was sealed.  
  


* * *

  
Illumi staying an extra day was unusual. Two days, almost unheard of. A whole week was a minor miracle, and Hisoka was never one to believe in divine powers. If God was real, he was hardly the first in line to receive blessings, anyway.

The way he saw it, there were two possibilities: 

  1. There was a fighter in the tower both strong enough to dissuade Illumi from attacking outright, and clever enough to avoid stealth attacks. 
  2. Illumi was stalling for time. 



The first possibility had a certain appeal. It required that the target had kept the full extent of their power hidden, using _Zetsu_ to partly suppress their aura, even during fights. Hisoka would have noticed them otherwise. If such a fighter existed, he had a vested interest in finding them before Illumi—it would be the first worthy prey he’d encountered in months. 

The second possibility seemed more likely; such constant use of _Zetsu_ would prove exhausting even for a _Nen_ master. If the fighter relented for even a second, Hisoka would sense their presence.

So, Illumi was probably stalling. Why?

On the morning of the seventh day, just after Illumi slipped out of their shared bed (he’d never bothered looking for other bedrooms) Hisoka decided to investigate. Stalking a professional killer was no small task, and if he’d been anyone else it would have been impossible. For Hisoka, however, it was sufficient to trade his hard-soled heels for flats and quiet his aura with _Zetsu_. Illumi was unaware of his presence; or at least, he did not acknowledge it.

After eating breakfast in one of the arena’s finer restaurants (Illumi rarely deigned to eat fast food), he took the elevator down to the 150th floor. 

This action alone dealt a killing blow to Hisoka’s first theory. _If there’s a fighter capable of concealing their strength, surely they would be above the 200th floor?_ He frowned, peeking around the corner of the hallway. _Unless he knows I’m following him, and he’s misleading me intentionally._

After a few minutes of what seemed like aimless wandering, Illumi opened a door and vanished behind it. 

When half an hour had passed and the door failed to open again, Hisoka risked approach. Guest rooms on the lower floors were made of stained wood with simple gold accents; this door had been painted black. In place of a room number, a metal rectangle proclaimed “MAINTENANCE” in plain block letters. Hisoka stared at it for a long time. 

Should he try to open it? Then Illumi would know he was being followed. The night before last, they had finally resumed sex; following him like this could be seen as a betrayal of trust. Fucking Illumi was a luxury he was not prepared to lose unless absolutely necessary. 

Better to keep his cards close to his chest. Retreating to the end of the hall, Hisoka began his vigil, ears tuned for the soft _click_ of an opening door.   
  


* * *

  
For the next three days, Illumi’s routine was identical: rise just before 7AM, eat breakfast, and disappear inside the maintenance closet. He remained there for ten uninterrupted hours, after which he opened the door, walked to the elevator, and returned to the master suite. 

At the end of the first day, Hisoka had checked for hidden passages in the closet, but had found none. He’d also checked at the end of the second day, for good measure. But it seemed Illumi really was spending the better part of his day in an unremarkable little room, next to cleaning supplies and circuit breaker panels. Baffling. 

If the assassin knew he was being followed, he made no show of it. They continued having sex in the evenings (and sometimes, briefly, in the mornings). If anything, the intensity of these sessions had increased from the first night; they both incurred scratches, bruises, and bite marks in abundance. He’d even let Illumi immobilize him once—one pin in each shoulder joint, two pins in each thigh. Illumi had fucked him like that, thin fingers around his throat, seething with bloodlust. 

It had been a blissful evening, to say the least. 

On the fourth day, however, Hisoka’s curiosity outgrew his caution. Five minutes after Illumi entered the closet, he followed suit; it was such a crowded space that he nearly stepped on the assassin’s foot.  
  
Illumi was seated between a red plastic bucket and a stack of white towels, arms wrapped loosely about his knees. The look he gave Hisoka was somehow blanker than his usual expression. 

Hisoka closed the door and dropped into a crouch. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he gave Illumi a small wave. “Hello.” 

“You followed me,” said Illumi. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He rocked back on his heels. “I wanted to see a master assassin at work. I have to say, this isn’t at all what I expected. Unless your target is a member of the custodial staff, I can’t see the advantage of hiding here.” 

“My methods are not your concern.” 

“No, I suppose they aren’t.” 

They sat in silence for several minutes, Hisoka shuffling a pair of cards between his fingers, Illumi a motionless, unblinking statue. Finally, the assassin spoke: 

“Are you going to leave?” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Yes.” 

Hisoka crossed his arms with a huff. “I’ve seen you come here the past three days. You really aren’t going to give me any inclination of _why?_ ” 

“Why should I?” Illumi cocked his head. “This is my job, not yours. I’ve already refused your help on more than one occasion. Divulging details puts myself and my client at unnecessary risk.” 

“Fine.” Hisoka rose to his feet. “I won’t follow you anymore.” 

Stepping back into the hallway, he reminded himself that things could have gone much worse. Illumi hadn’t seemed angry, after all. Still, he couldn’t help but feel miffed about being kept in the dark. It was a shame the Zoldycks were practically immune to torture. 

He scheduled a match for the afternoon and spent the rest of the morning in the arena gym. Last month, a gym goer had stepped on his foot and he had, naturally, severed her leg above the knee; the woman had bled to death before medics could arrive. Since then, most of the gym’s patrons promptly vacated the facility upon his arrival. Those who remained gave him a wide berth. 

Usually he liked the solitude, but that day it gave him too much time to think. If Illumi was waiting to kill his target, why not spend his day somewhere more comfortable? And if such a lengthy wait period was necessary, why come to Heavens’ Arena so early in the first place? Illumi was nothing if not efficient. Maybe camping out in a custodial closet made sense in the context of some larger scheme, but Hisoka couldn’t begin to fathom what it was.

The afternoon match took his mind off the mystery, if only for a few minutes. He was up against an enhancer, a former gambler who used dice as projectiles. At first, his opponent had potential; when one die grazed his cheek, he even toyed with the idea of letting him live. But the man’s resolve crumbled after the bones in his forearm were shattered. Worthy prey wouldn’t have such a nervous disposition. He died a coward’s death: cradling his arm, sobbing like a child. 

When Hisoka returned to the master suite that evening, he heard Illumi’s voice drifting into the hall. Though the sound was muffled by the thick wooden door, its considerable volume allowed him to make out the words. 

“—would I take it back? Everything I said was true. Should I lie to you? Is that what you want?” 

There was a long pause. Hisoka pressed his ear against the door, between the snarling wooden lions. 

“Threatening me will not alter the facts. I have nothing to apologize for.”

Another long pause. He could feel Illumi’s aura, roiling with the same tumult of emotion as it had the night he’d crashed the suite. Who was he talking to? His client? 

Illumi’s voice dropped, so Hisoka had to strain to hear the final words: 

“Well, then I’m not coming home.” 

_Oh._

What else could have Illumi so upset, save for family trouble? The Zoldyck legacy was the only thing he cared about; the one time Hisoka had seen him genuinely furious was when he had threatened Killua, the heir. Illumi’s long stay at the arena made perfect sense. He was quarreling with family. But over what? 

He was mulling over the question when the door swung open. 

Though his reflexes were sufficient to prevent him from falling over, his sharp recoil made it obvious he had been leaning against the door. 

“You were eavesdropping,” said Illumi. 

“You were loud,” countered Hisoka. “And this is my room.” 

Illumi appraised him with bloodshot eyes. Though his aura was still seething, the bloodlust was not directed at any particular target; the result was an impression of imbalance which, if pushed, would tumble easily into chaos. 

“What did you hear?” 

“Enough.” Hisoka brushed past him, taking his usual seat on the edge of the bed. “Did you really come here for a job, Illu?” 

There was a soft _crunch_ as Illumi’s fist tightened around the collection of circuits that had once been his cell phone. 

“No.” He shut the door with his free hand. “I did not.” 

“So I take it you weren’t talking to a client?” 

For a moment Illumi appeared to sway on his feet, but he caught himself, did not stumble. “My father,” he said, “is being unreasonable.”

“Oh?” Hisoka patted the bed. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Illumi did not move. He licked his lips. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. 

“Come on, baby.” Hisoka’s voice was soft and coaxing. “How can I help you if I don’t know what’s wrong?” 

“You cannot help me.” 

“Then why did you come here?” 

Illumi looked at him strangely. “Where else would I go?” 

Well. That was a fair point. Hisoka was likely the only non-familial contact that Illumi was on speaking terms with. The Zoldycks weren’t exactly popular, and Illumi had always been particularly opposed to the idea of friendship.

They stayed like that for a while: the assassin standing with his back to the door, the magician sitting on the bed, dusk yielding to night. When the last crimson ray of sunlight disappeared behind the skyline, Illumi finally began to speak. 

“Killua’s absence was hardest on Mother. My father had faith that Killua would return, but she did not share that faith. At first, I trusted Father. He had never been wrong before.” Illumi raised his eyes to meet Hisoka’s, then dropped them again. His throat clicked as he swallowed. “Even after Killua ran away with Nanika, Father believed he would return. But Mother knew better. Two weeks ago she asked me, privately, to retrieve Killua. I left without asking Father, knowing he would forbid it.

“Three days passed. I was getting close; another day, and I would have found them. But I received a text from Father: ‘Come home. Your mother is dead.’” 

Hisoka’s eyes widened. Illumi continued in his flat, stilted tone, as if he’d said nothing of consequence. 

“I thought it was a trick at first, so I called home. I spoke with Kalluto. He had seen her corpse, hanging in the dungeon. Suicide. So I came home. Father asked me where I had been. I told him I had been looking for Killua, and he became angry. I told him Mother wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t let Killua leave, and he became angrier, which I thought was strange.” Illumi tilted his head, his expression pensive. “My father could always handle the truth, even if it was unpleasant. But he told me to take it back, or to leave his house. So I spent a couple of nights in the city. Then I came here.” 

Hisoka’s hands were folded beneath his chin, elbows resting on his knees. The playfulness had vanished from his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?” 

“I did not want to.” 

“Then why are you telling me now?” 

“I would not have been able to keep it from you much longer.” Illumi turned the ruined phone between his thin white fingers. “I am not a practiced liar.” 

“You could have left.” 

Illumi tossed the phone to the floor. “My father has taken the liberty of cancelling my access to the family bank accounts. All job requests go through my father first, so I cannot work, either. I have no money. I cannot go home—”

“I see the problem.” Hisoka stretched his arms behind his back, shoulders popping in the silence. “You know, you could become a floor master here in no time.” He didn’t know why he was telling Illumi this; sharing a room with the assassin had been the most interesting thing that had happened to him in months, and he wasn’t eager to live alone again. “You’d have your own space.” 

“I know.” Illumi crossed his arms. “I was here once before, when I was five years old. But I am not ready to resort to that yet.” 

“You think it’s beneath you?” 

“Yes.” 

Hisoka laughed. “And sharing a room with me isn’t?” 

“That is different. We are sexual partners.” 

“That we are.” 

Illumi looked calmer than he had at the beginning of their conversation—his aura had dwindled to a state near _Zetsu_ —but he still seemed on edge, like he was teetering on the brink of something. Hisoka eyed him carefully. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, of course. Though I’d prefer if you wouldn’t spend your entire day in a closet.” 

“That will no longer be necessary.” 

“Good.” 

Illumi’s arms fell to his sides. There were small marks in the flesh of his bicep where his fingernails had carved pink crescent moons. “I am going to take a bath, I think.” 

“Be my guest.” Hisoka continued to watch as Illumi crossed the room. His gait was slower than usual, each step almost tentative, like a child learning to walk. “Illu?”

“Yes?” 

“Were you close?” Hisoka shifted to face the washroom; through the canopy, Illumi’s figure was doused in shades of red. “You and your mother?” 

Illumi paused by the door. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Nevermind.” 

When Hisoka heard the sound of water running behind the closed door, he relaxed onto the pillows with a sigh. Kikyo Zoldyck’s death was unprecedented, but not entirely regrettable. The subsequent turmoil had delivered Illumi straight to his bed, after all, and it was beginning to look like he was here to stay. He couldn’t have asked for a more favorable arrangement if he’d designed it himself.

Then why didn’t he feel like celebrating? 

A peal of thunder filled the darkening room. The few stars visible through the light pollution winked out, as if smothered by the gathering clouds. He allowed himself to doze. 

Two hours later, Hisoka woke to rain pelting the glass wall. 

The bed was still empty, the room pitch dark. On the nightstand, a clock proclaimed 10:04 PM in bright green letters. He sat upright. 

As his eyes adjusted, it occurred to him that the floor looked strange. It seemed to shimmer faintly, rippling green in the light of the clock. When he stepped out of the bed he found himself ankle-deep in ice cold water. 

There was a twinge in the pit of his stomach, the barest inkling of an emotion he hadn’t felt in years. He hadn’t thought Illumi the type to hurt himself, but he didn’t _know_ Illumi, not really. Sometimes he caught glimpses behind the mask, but the Illumi Zoldyck of his fantasies was, if not inaccurate, at least woefully incomplete. As he approached the washroom, the idea that the son had followed in the mother’s footsteps didn’t seem so implausible. 

He opened the door. A fresh gush of water soaked his calves. Rain flung itself against the oculus in the ceiling; directly beneath it was the bathtub, where Illumi sat, terribly still. Water poured steadily over the sides. 

Black hair fanned across the surface of the water, cutting a strange shadow against white marble. The water looked clear. No blood. 

“Illu?” 

No response. He sloshed his way to the edge of the tub, the white fabric of his pants dragging behind him. The absence of blood did not preclude the possibility of death; only a few inches of water were required for the properly motivated man to drown himself. 

“Illu?” he said again. 

Illumi was submerged, save for the upper half of his face. His nose rested just above the water, sending small ripples across the surface with each exhale. His eyes, black and empty, stared at nothing. He was breathing, sure enough, but he didn’t look alive. 

Hisoka shut the faucet off, and the ensuing silence was so awful he nearly turned it back on. Instead, he reached into the water and pulled the drain plug. Illumi’s eyes did not follow his motion, but remained fixed on some point on the opposing wall. 

“Come on.” He fetched a towel from the high shelf. “Let’s go to bed.” 

When he grabbed Illumi’s upper arm and pulled, the assassin rose to his feet. His body seemed even paler than usual, his fingers pruned and nearly as white as the surrounding marble. Wrapping the towel about his shoulders, Hisoka guided him forward, one hand on the small of his back. His skin was cold. Somehow, he seemed more like one of Omokage’s dolls than the real Illumi. No, it was worse than that; the puppeteer's dolls had been far more lifelike. As he put Illumi to bed, those eyes still staring sightlessly, he had to suppress the urge to slap him awake. 

An hour later, when he had begun to doze, Hisoka heard a voice, a barely audible whisper. 

“Hisoka?” 

He turned. It didn’t look as if Illumi had moved, but it was difficult to tell in the dark. 

“Yes?” 

“How long can you hold your breath?” 

He considered the question. “I don’t know. Can’t say I’ve ever tried.” 

“Oh.”

He was drifting off again by the time Illumi resumed. “One of my earliest memories is of Mother holding my head under water. I must have been two or three years old.” 

“She tried to drown you?” 

“Of course not.”

Hisoka frowned. “Then...what?” 

“I was learning to hold my breath.” 

“Oh.” He wondered if all the Zoldyck children had endured that particular exercise. “What’s your record?” 

“Twenty-six minutes and five seconds. I was eight years old when I held it for ten minutes, for the first time. She was so proud of me.” There was a long pause. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought of that just now.” 

Hisoka reached across the bed, over damp pillows, finding the edge of Illumi’s cheek. His fingers brushed cool skin. “Go to sleep, Illu.” 

They slept. 


	3. Chapter 3

The storm passed during the night, leaving a gray morning in its wake. 

Hisoka sat cross-legged at the end of the bed, studying the sleeping Illumi. The white towel was still wrapped around his shoulders, but his hair seemed dry, if a bit tangled from sleeping on it wet. 

Each time he stirred, Hisoka held his breath. Was the previous night’s episode a regular occurrence? Or was it something rare, and potentially serious? Caring for an Illumi-shaped doll was not something he was prepared to do, but the idea of discarding him as he had his other “broken toys” wasn’t appealing, either. Illumi was special, more so than Gon (who he would relish killing when the time came, but whom he had no desire to sleep with), and more so than Chrollo (who, while arguably stronger than Illumi, had thus far refused his sexual advances). Seeing him like this elicited a feeling which might be described as “empathy.” For Hisoka, it was a novel experience. 

When Illumi’s eyes opened and settled on him, clear and lucid and alive, he smiled with genuine relief.

“Good morning.” Hisoka turned around, to where silver cloches sat atop a red wood trolley. He plucked off one of the covers and retrieved a plate of pancakes from beneath it. “You overslept, so I took the liberty of ordering room service.”

Illumi pushed himself to a sitting position. He blinked. “Why?” 

“It’s customary for sexual partners to cook each other breakfast on occasion. I, however, am a terrible cook. So.” He set the plate in Illumi’s lap with a flourish. “Bon appétit.” 

Illumi looked at the plate as if it were an exotic animal. A grimace crossed his face. “You do not have to do this,” he said. “I do not require comfort. My mother’s death is of little consequence, and my father will see reason eventually.” 

“Ah.” Hisoka nodded sagely. “I should eat all of these myself, then?” 

Illumi looked down again. A red strawberry, embedded in whipped cream, crowned the stack of pancakes. “No,” he said. 

“Good.” Hisoka passed him a fork. “I’d hate for them to go to waste.” 

They ate in silence for several minutes. Hisoka waited until Illumi had taken a particularly big bite to introduce the topic he’d been mulling over for the better part of the morning.

“Illu?” 

“Mm?”

“I think we should get married.” 

Illumi stopped chewing. Then, realizing he could not reply with a mouth full of pancake without sacrificing some amount of dignity, he resumed chewing, and swallowed. “Married?” he echoed. “You and I?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Why?”

“Well, it would solve your financial problem, for one.” He pointed his fork at Illumi. “Assuming I die before you, you’ll be my sole beneficiary.” 

“My financial problem, as you call it, is temporary. My father will see reason eventually. And even if he does not, I am a competent assassin, capable of taking on clients without my family’s connections.” 

Hisoka shrugged. “True. I have no one else to give the money to, is all. When I die, the arena will simply repossess it. But, if that’s what you want…” He licked a trail of whipped cream from the tine of his fork. “Suit yourself.” 

Illumi chewed thoughtfully. “You want me to take your money?” 

“Yes.” 

“What else would you gain from our union? Or is that all?” 

“Well,” Hisoka skewered a blueberry, “I’d very much like it if you’d try to kill me.” 

“Now?” 

“No. After my fight with Chrollo.” 

“Assuming you survive it.” 

Hisoka popped the blueberry into his mouth. He smiled. “I will.” 

“Is that all?” 

“One more thing.” 

Illumi’s eyes narrowed. “What?” 

“I get to call you my husband, of course.”

The assassin’s expression shifted from suspicious to dumbfounded so quickly that Hisoka had to bite back a bark of laughter. 

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a white dress, either,” he said. “Or a suit, for that matter. And a honeymoon would be in order, I think. At least one week of non stop f—” 

“Enough,” Illumi cut in. “I accept your proposal. Sans dress.” 

“I knew you’d come around!” Hisoka leaned forward. “So you don’t object to the honeymoon?” 

“Correct.” He set his half-eaten plate aside. “Just because I choose to exercise discretion when expressing sexual desire does not mean my desire is less than yours.” 

“Are you calling me indiscreet?” 

“Yes. You are also lascivious, hedonistic, impulsive—” 

“Now, Illu.” Hisoka’s lower lip protruded in a pout. “Is that any way to talk about your fiancé?” 

Illumi rolled his eyes. “Do not make me regret this, Hisoka.” He slid out of the bed, landing barefoot with a _squelch_. He paused. “Why is the floor wet?” 

“Oh, that?” The magician’s smile faltered, but he recovered so quickly that it was imperceptible. “A pipe burst last night. We’ll be sleeping in the guest suite while they replace the carpet.” 

“Ah.” Illumi appeared to accept this; retrieving an outfit from the dresser, he slipped into the washroom without further comment. Whether he had actually forgotten the events of the previous night, or if he only wanted to avoid talking about it, Hisoka was glad for his silence. 

The assassin emerged ten minutes later, hair brushed and slicked back, dressed in green.

“I am going out,” he said, “and I am taking your credit card.” 

Hisoka returned his own empty plate to the trolley. “Typically, one asks for permission before taking things, rather than announcing one’s intention to take it.” 

“Married couples share resources,” countered Illumi. “And I have errands to complete which require funds.” 

“Fine.” Hisoka’s tone was flat, but the playfulness had returned to his eyes. “Don’t make me regret this, Illu.”   
  


* * *

  
Evidently, Illumi’s errands had involved purchasing a new phone; when Hisoka finished moving his clothes from the main suite back to the guest room, he received a text summoning him to the lobby. Three hours had passed since the assassin’s departure, and he was a little afraid to check his bank account. 

The elevator doors parted, revealing a cavernous room bustling with spectators and fighters. Most were dressed warmly; it seemed the weather had taken a cold turn. There was a fire in the cylindrical glass fireplace, around which were situated a variety of couches and chairs. He spotted Illumi on one of these couches, sitting with his ankles crossed. There were papers in his lap. 

Hisoka joined him, sliding close enough to peer over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“This,” Illumi passed him the papers, “is a prenuptial agreement.” 

Hisoka studied the document. It looked neat and professional; he considered asking how much the lawyer had charged to write such a document in less than three hours, but decided he didn’t want to know. “You want me to sign this?” 

“Yes. In front of a notary. Our appointment is in fifteen minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not wasting any time, are we?” 

“Frankly, I have nothing better to do. You will sign it?” 

“Yes.” Hisoka’s face brightened. He threw his arm around Illumi’s shoulder. “Consider it your engagement ring.” 

“How romantic.” 

“I’m glad you agree. Where’s your notary?” 

“A ten minute walk.” He shrugged the arm off his shoulder and stood. “We should leave now. The courthouse where the notary is located performs weddings, as well, if you would like to get married today.”

A woman in the adjacent chair coughed into her drink. 

“Really, Illu? A courthouse wedding?” Hisoka stood to follow, tucking the papers beneath his arm. “I would prefer something a little more...exciting.” 

“I am not wearing a dress.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” They started toward the door. The magician’s thoughtful expression blossomed into a grin. “Have you ever been to Glam Gas Land?” 

“No.” 

“What do you say we take a little trip?”   
  


* * *

  
The desert sky was a deep, cloudless blue. Behind them, the road cut a clear path through the plains, back to the Yorknew airport, where their drive had begun; ahead, it wound its way through the foothills of the approaching mountain range, stark black against the russet landscape. In the shadow of the snow capped peaks, a cluster of buildings was rising into view. A green sign proclaimed “GLAM GAS LAND - 10 KM” in white letters. 

Having witnessed Illumi’s driving firsthand, Hisoka had insisted on taking the wheel. The flight to the Yorbian continent had been dull, but he rather liked driving; it gave him time to get reacquainted with the scenery. The last time he’d traversed these hills had been over a decade ago, and he’d been on foot then. He could still see the rectangular arch of the Royal Glam Hotel, sparkling white in the afternoon sun (though it looked pink through his sunglasses). A striped circus tent was visible, too, partly obscured by one of the city’s many casinos. Not much had changed, it seemed. 

“That’s where we’ll stay,” said Hisoka, pointing to the white arch. “The chapel is a short walk from there.” 

“Mm.” Illumi was in the passenger’s seat, one knee pulled to his chest, head resting against the window. “Is it nice?” 

“Oh, yes. Many wealthy patrons frequent the hotel.” 

“I meant the chapel.” 

“Ah.” Hisoka shot him a sideways grin. “You’ll see.” 

A few minutes later, the shadow of the hotel fell upon them. Hisoka pulled up to the curb and stepped into the afternoon heat. There was a faint but pervasive smell of gasoline. 

“Alright, Illu.” He opened the passenger side door and tossed his keys to the valet in one fluid motion. “Let’s go get changed.” 

Illumi gave him a long once-over. “I hope you brought something without card suits emblazoned on the chest.” 

Hisoka snorted. “Bold words from a man who owns sweatpants with flames on them.” 

“I would not wear sweatpants of any sort to any wedding, much less my own.” He folded one garment bag over his arm and held out the other for inspection. “Do you even own a suit?” 

“Let me think,” mused Hisoka, pulling a suitcase from the trunk and setting it on the curb. “I own a bathing suit.” 

Illumi’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“Just kidding.” He took the proffered garment bag and kissed the side of Illumi’s mouth. “Come on, baby.”   
  


* * *

  
“When you said you had a venue in mind I was expecting something a bit more…”

“Spacious?” offered Hisoka.

“Elegant.” 

The chapel was a squat building, flanked by a bar on one side and a gift shop on the other. The white paint on its wood siding was flaking in several places. On the sidewalk in front of the bar, a pair of street musicians banged out a raucous ballad, guitar case open between them. Hisoka tossed 100 jenny inside. 

Illumi pressed his fingers against his temples. “Why did you choose this place, Hisoka?” 

“Well,” he began, unbuttoning the blazer of his white suit. The walk from the hotel had taken less than ten minutes, but he was already sweating. “When I was young I’d sit outside the bar and watch couples leave this place. Usually stumbling drunk, often laughing. For a long time I thought all weddings were like that: something you did for fun, at the spur of the moment. So when I thought of getting married myself, this was the first place that came to mind.” 

Hisoka smiled, straightening the lapels of Illumi’s wine red blazer; the velvet had to be stiflingly hot, but he had to admit it was a good look, especially paired with the crisp white blouse. “Besides,” he said, “I knew you’d hate it.” 

“Why would you intentionally choose somewhere you knew I’d hate?” 

He shrugged, pocketing his transparent pink sunglasses. “You’re cute when you’re mad.” 

Illumi’s mouth twitched.  
  
“Yes!” exclaimed Hisoka, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “That’s it. I _love_ that look.” 

“You’re impossible,” said Illumi, but there was no venom in his tone.

“I’ve been called worse.” 

They were still for a long moment, Hisoka’s hand lingering on the back of his head. Then Illumi leaned in and kissed him. 

It was strange, given how much they’d had sex, just how little they’d kissed. Before today, Hisoka could count the times on one hand. Today, they’d kissed twice: briefly, in front of the hotel, and now deeply, in front of the chapel. The scent of Illumi’s cologne—vanilla and lavender—mixed with the smell of gasoline. His lips were tantalizingly soft. Hisoka pulled their bodies flush at the waist. One of the musicians wolf whistled. 

Illumi drew back at the sound, as if he’d forgotten they were in public. “You know,” he said softly, “my parents were married on Kukuroo mountain in the springtime. They hired a full orchestra. It was very beautiful. My mother…” his voice faltered. “My mother used to speak of it often. I always imagined I would marry there, too, if I were to get married at all.” 

“It’s not too late, if you’d like to head home. Your family is more than welcome to witness our joining.” 

Illumi gave him a long look. “You are joking,” he concluded. 

“Yes. Though I’ve always wanted to fight your father.” 

“I will marry you here.” His gaze shifted to the chapel. “Let’s get it over with.” 

“That’s the spirit,” said Hisoka, lacing their hands together. “You look beautiful, by the way, Illu.” 

Illumi did not reply, but he held Hisoka’s hand as they walked through the threshold, and that was enough.   
  


* * *

  
By the time they left the chapel, it was getting dark. A few stars flickered in a deep violet sky, dim against the city’s kaleidoscopic lights. The musicians had gone, but there were still people on the streets. There always were in Glam Gas Land.

“Would you like a ring?” said Hisoka, apropos of nothing. 

Illumi looked up from the marriage certificate, which he’d been looking at almost constantly since they’d signed it. “It is not necessary.” 

“I didn’t ask if it was necessary. I asked if you’d like one.” 

Illumi gave the certificate one last look before tucking it beneath his arm. Drifting slowly in the direction of the hotel, they passed shops, bars, and innumerable casinos. He did not respond.

“I’ll buy you a ring,” Hisoka decided. “Any one you like.” 

“Very well.” 

They continued in silence. Something had shifted between them since the incident with the bathtub, but Hisoka couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He reflected on the ceremony. It had been brief; most of their time in the chapel was spent waiting. He’d considered killing the couples in front of them, but held back, figuring the minister might refuse to marry them otherwise. So they had sat in the pews, still holding hands, though their palms were sweating in the heat. They’d never held hands before, at least not for very long, but in that moment it had seemed important not to let go. 

Hisoka’s pocket buzzed, breaking his reverie. 

He pulled out his phone. When he read the name on the screen, he stopped in his tracks. A thrill rushed through him and settled in his groin. 

“Your spider?” asked Illumi. 

“Yes.” Hisoka grinned, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “It seems I have a date.” 

“When?” 

“Two weeks.” 

Illumi absorbed this expressionlessly. “Soon,” he said. 

They resumed walking; the hotel was coming into view. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” 

“Disappointed?” 

There was no reply. In front of the hotel, a lone patron observed their approach, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

“Don’t worry.” He threaded an arm around Illumi’s waist. The man with the cigarette averted his eyes. “There’s still plenty of time for a honeymoon. In fact, there’s a club not far from here where we can, ah, _perform_ , for an audience, if you’d like.” 

“You mean sex?”

“Yes.” 

“In front of strangers.” 

“That’s right.” 

Illumi seemed to consider this. They paused near the hotel. The man crushed his cigarette beneath his heel and slinked back through the revolving door. “No,” he said.

“Is that a _no_ no or a—” 

“Red no.” Illumi lowered his voice. “I don’t want anyone else to see me like that. Only you.” 

Under normal circumstances, Hisoka would have been disappointed by this refusal. In light of the peculiar shift that had occurred between them, he felt almost touched. 

“Of course, baby.”   
  


* * *

  
Light from the full moon, newly risen, filtered through the sliding glass door. It crept across the carpet—over a white shirt, a red velvet blazer, and other such items—all crumpled on the floor, removed in haste. It skimmed the nightstand, where a notepad reading “Royal Glam Hotel” sat unused next to an open bottle of lubricant. It came to a halt halfway across the king sized bed, splitting its occupants down the middle. 

Against cool white pillows, Hisoka could see the warm undertones in Illumi’s skin. The effect was most prominent above his hand, which was wrapped around the assassin’s throat, just beneath the swell of the Adam’s apple. The magician’s thighs tensed and relaxed at a steady pace, raising and lowering himself onto Illumi’s erection.

“Feels good, huh?” said Hisoka. A bead of sweat traced his spine. “Do you like it when I use your cock, baby?” 

Illumi nodded, open mouthed. His lips soundlessly formed one word: “Harder.” 

Hisoka laughed and tightened his grip. Eyes rolling back, Illumi’s hips jerked upwards, pushing himself deeper inside.  
  
“Are you going to come already?” He sat down hard, resting his full weight on Illumi’s pelvis. “Slut.” 

A thin whine escaped him. Illumi rolled his hips, desperate for friction. 

“Hisoka,” he rasped, voice barely a whisper.

“Yes, Illu?” 

“Can I come?” He licked his lips. “Please?” 

“Of course, baby.” Hisoka began to raise and lower himself again, faster now. “All you had to do was ask.” 

Illumi’s jaw opened wide. The cords in his neck jumped out beneath Hisoka’s grip. His body shook in a convulsion of ecstasy. 

“Good boy,” said Hisoka, withdrawing his hand. He could feel come seeping from his asshole, around Illumi’s twitching cock. “Come for me.” 

Collapsing back onto the pillows, Illumi’s head lolled to one side. His chest heaved with each breath. “Fuck,” he said. 

Hisoka removed himself from Illumi’s lap and lay down, facing him, his back to the window. The rectangle of moonlight had drifted to the far side of the bed, banishing the darkness to the floor. Yellow eyes flickered with amusement, watching the assassin struggle to catch his breath. “You look all fucked out, baby.” 

Illumi rolled onto his side, eyes drifting to Hisoka’s erection. “We are not done." 

“Oh?” Hisoka scooted forward, pressing his cock against Illumi’s belly. “Is there something you wanted from me?” 

“Yes.” Illumi wrapped a leg around Hisoka’s waist, pulling their bodies close. His lips found the crook of Hisoka’s neck, brushing the flesh there; the magician seemed to feel the touch on the tip of his cock. “Tie my wrists,” he said. “Hold me down.” 

Hisoka groaned, threading one hand in Illumi’s hair. “What else?” 

“Kiss me,” he continued, tongue sliding against Hisoka’s neck. “Come inside me.” 

“God, Illu.” Hisoka’s free hand slipped between them, grasping one of Illumi’s wrists, then the other; he joined them with a band of _Bungee Gum._

“On your back.” Sitting up, he retrieved the lube from the nightstand. “Now.” 

Illumi obliged, pinioned wrists resting against his chest, legs folded at the knee. A purple bruise was forming on his neck.

“Now then,” said Hisoka, stroking himself with his lubricated hand, “are you gonna beg for me?”

“Yes.” Illumi tilted his hips upward, exposing himself. “Now. No fingers. Please.”

“Are you sure?” He’d clipped two fingernails especially for the occasion, and it seemed a waste. “I won’t take long to stretch you out.” 

“I can’t wait.” 

“That needy?” He lined himself up, just barely touching Illumi’s hole with the head of his cock. He was achingly hard. “I should teach you patience, hmm?” 

“Hisoka,” groaned Illumi. 

“You want a cock inside you that badly? I wonder…” He leaned forward, his face close enough to feel Illumi’s breath. “If I stayed like this all night, touching you, never fucking you…” 

“Hisoka.” 

“...would you cry?” 

Illumi angled his hips down, but the magician withdrew the same distance. 

“I believe the order of requests was ‘tie my wrists,’ then, ‘hold me down,’ then, ‘kiss me.’ I recall ‘come inside me’ being last, don’t you?” 

Hisoka pressed both hands against Illumi’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed. “So that’s step two…”

“His—” 

The magician crushed their mouths together. 

To think kissing had seemed trivial before! Now, he marveled at the sensation of Illumi’s tongue against his own, of Illumi’s teeth on his lower lip, biting hard enough to draw blood. Whatever had changed between them, it made the smallest pleasures electrifying. 

“Please,” Illumi whimpered. “Fuck me.” 

Hisoka grinned against his mouth. “Yes, baby,” he said, and sheathed himself in one thrust. 

Illumi’s shout was sufficient to wake the dead.

“What?” cooed Hisoka. Each thrust knocked the headboard against the wall, likely earning the ire of their neighbors. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

The cry melted into a moan of near equal volume. Illumi hooked his bound wrists around Hisoka’s neck and pulled their mouths together. “Yes,” he gasped between kisses. “Yes, Hisoka!” 

It was sometime between this moment and the moment of orgasm that it dawned on him. Something so obvious, yet so improbable, that it had never crossed his mind—except in the delirium of pleasure, when such thoughts are bound to crop up, now and then. Burying himself with one final thrust, he came with the knowledge that if he did not love Illumi Zoldyck, then what he felt for Illumi Zoldyck was the closest thing to love he was capable of feeling. 

He laughed then, because it was absurd, because it was true, and because he knew Illumi Zoldyck loved him back. 

“What?” said Illumi. “What’s funny?” 

“We’re married, my dick is inside you, and I’ve only just now realized that you’re in love with me.” 

Illumi stiffened. “Oh?” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” continued Hisoka, pulling himself out of Illumi’s ass. “I love you too. Or at least, I think I do.” 

He relaxed. “Oh.” 

“You _do_ love me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Illumi, after a pause. “I think so.” 

“Good.” Hisoka removed the wrist restraints with a flick of his fingers. “How attached are you to the idea of monogamy?” 

“Not particularly.” 

“Good. Me neither.” He pressed a kiss to Illumi’s reddened wrist, contemplating one of the assassin’s notoriously difficult-to-read expressions. “And our contract still stands?” 

“Of course.” Illumi nuzzled his face into the juncture of Hisoka’s neck and shoulder. “But I wonder…” 

“What?” 

“Will you be able to kill someone you love?” 

Hisoka smiled. “A silly question.” 

“Humor me.” 

“To see you die at anyone else’s hand would be torture.” He began stroking the back of Illumi’s head, his tone suddenly wistful. “I only regret I can’t kill you more than once.” 

“Mmm.” Illumi traced one of the muscles in Hisoka’s upper back. “You would risk your own death for a chance to kill me twice?” 

“In a heartbeat.” 

“Why?” 

Hisoka hummed. “Killing strangers is gratifying, in its own way, but I have always preferred killing those I know more...intimately. I never have—and I doubt I ever will—know anyone more intimately than I know you, dear Illu.”

Illumi absorbed this in silence. 

“What about you?” prompted Hisoka. 

“What about me?”  
  
“When the time comes, will you be able to kill me?” 

“Of course.” 

“Oh? What makes you so certain?” 

“I am a Zoldyck,” he said simply. 

“Mmm.” Hisoka pressed his nose against the crown of Illumi’s head, relishing his scent. “That’s all?” 

“That’s all.” 

“A Zoldyck would kill his own spouse?” 

The subsequent pause was long enough that Hisoka began to fear he had spoiled the honeymoon. Then, to his relief, Illumi continued: 

“Our marriage is a short term arrangement, predicated on the assumption that one of us will kill the other. It's hardly fair to compare it to the marriage of my parents, or my grandparents, for that matter. My father may be responsible for my mother’s death, but he would never have killed her on purpose.” Illumi tilted his face up, so his lips brushed the side of Hisoka’s jaw. “He is the most skilled assassin in the world, but he is still a man, and men do not kill what they love—yourself excluded.” 

“Oh, I disagree.” Hisoka drew back, regarding his husband with open fondness. “All men kill the thing they love.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Who knows. It’s an old poem. But it rings true, don’t you think?” 

Illumi’s brow furrowed. There was silence for a beat. Then: “I didn’t know you could read.” 

The magician laughed; it was a deep, resonant sound, full of uncharacteristic warmth. “Making fun of me? Are you sure that’s wise?” 

“What are you going to do?” Illumi turned his hips, pressing himself against Hisoka’s thigh. A small smile had begun to breach his mask. “Punish me?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Hisoka. “Quite severely.”   
  


After two consecutive porters disappeared while delivering noise complaints, the hotel staff elected to leave the occupants of room 336 alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All men kill the thing they love" is a line from one of my favorite poems, Wilde's "Ballad of Reading Gaol." Whether that means Oscar Wilde exists in the HunterxHunterverse or that a different, fictionalized poet penned the line in the context of this fic, I'll leave up to yall, lol. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the final chapter!


End file.
